


Nothing to Lose

by swanqueenfic13



Series: Aca-Song Fics [6]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Awkward Chloe, Based on a song, Chloe's kind of a stalker, Emblem3 - Freeform, Emily is Beca's step sister, F/F, Nervous Chloe, Party, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6742519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanqueenfic13/pseuds/swanqueenfic13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey can you do a Bechloe song fic based on emblem3 nothing to lose? Please :D” ~ @doubleinfinity-weareinfinite</p><p>Yes ma'am, I can! I strayed a bit from the song, but I think it works. Let me know what you think!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing to Lose

“Excuse me,” I call, struggling to be heard over the thumping bass of the crappy music someone is playing from their phone. The room is hot, packed with bodies, reeking of sweat and cheap booze. The girl in front of me is dressed in tight jeans and a low-cut, incredibly distracting tank top. 

She doesn’t even look up before replying with a swift, terse, “no.”

“Um, what?” I laugh. I’m not used to being shut down this quickly. Or at all, actually.

“I’m not moving. And you’re not getting into the liquor cabinet. You wanna go get drunk in the backyard on some cheap dollar store beer, be my guest,” she grunts. I laugh awkwardly, grabbing at the back of my neck. My God, I’ve never been so nervous trying to talk to a pretty girl before.

“God, no. I-I-I don’t need to steal alcohol at a house party. I can buy it myself, if I want to,” I scoff. Apparently this was the wrong thing to say because the girl’s eyes snap up to meet mine, narrowing. Every thought I was trying to create is completely erased as they meet mine, deep, layered blue-gray. They’re like steel, or the clouds that darken and roll before releasing the downpour. I’m too busy ogling her to hear what she says. “Gah, uh, um, what? Repetez s’il-vous-plâit?” I smile at her.

“If you’re over 21- and I think you are because I’ve seen you around Barden and you’re, like, a senior- then why the  _ hell _ are you at a high school party?” She raises an accusing eyebrow at me, but I can only take pride in the fact that she’s put her phone away and is talking to me.

“Well, you go to Barden, too! Why are  _ you _ here?” I challenge. I don’t know why I’m being so… weirdly sarcastic and aggressive, pushing her buttons. Usually my flirting style is less like a kid pulling a girl’s pigtails on the playground, and more like sweet words whispered in the dark.

“Nice try. This is my dad’s house. He and the step-monster are away and they wouldn’t let my step-sister Emily have a party unless I promised to chaperone. Apparently, the kids in her class call me Medusa,” she smirks triumphantly.

“Wow, giving up a Saturday night to babysit a bunch of high schoolers? You must really like your step-sister,” I giggle, tracing a finger down her arm.  _ Finally- _ I’m back on my flirting groove.

“She’s a good kid. Little bit of a dork, and doesn’t have many friends. She thought if she threw a house party, more people would like her,” the girl sighs, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans back, surveying the party. Immediately, it’s like my brain short circuits. The simple, probably unconscious action pushes Beca’s chest up, causing more of her to spill over the edge of her black tank top. Not enough to be obscene, just enough to make my throat dry, and suddenly I seem to have forgotten how to breathe.

“Hey,” she snaps. “My eyes are up here.” My cheeks color with embarrassment and guilt as I look up to find her glaring at me. She uncrosses her arms and takes her phone back out, ignoring me again.

“Uh, um, wanna dance?” I ask nervously. This music kind of sucks for dancing, but I’d do anything to get her smiling at me, or even looking at me again.

“Sorry, got a long night of guarding my dad’s Scotch,” she replies, not sounding sorry at all. I pout.

“I’m sorry I stared,” I offer.

“No you’re not,” she snorts. She’s kind of right. I’m not exactly  _ sorry _ I stared at her. More sorry she caught me and I made her feel bad. “It’s whatever. I guess even pretty girls can be perverts.” And it’s the way she says it that hurts so much. Like she’s lumping me in with every other jackass who objectifies her- even though I did just objectify her. I drop to my knees, trying to force myself into her line of vision. I put a hand on her knee. “Should I be reaching for my Barden rape whistle?” she asks drily. Blushing, I shake my head. That wasn’t what I meant to convey.

“I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have objectified you like that. It wasn’t cool. It’s just… you look so good tonight, and it’s kind of hard for me to put together a sentence! I don’t usually get flustered like this” I know I’m rambling, but I can’t seem to make myself stop. “But I’ve seen you around campus and you’re really pretty, and cool, and put together, and funny. You want everyone to think you’re this badass who doesn’t care, but secretly you’re a big softie. Like, um, one time it was pouring and I was studying in the library… Or, staring out the window while I should have been studying. There was this cat in the tree and I saw at least twelve people walk by, but you stopped. You climbed into the tree and carried the cat away. Oh my god, I’m not a stalker, I swear! I just… think that it made me fall for you and, like, whatever.” I suck in a deep breath and force myself to stop talking before she calls the cops on me.

“So you stalked me to this party?” she asks. But there’s the hint of a smile playing at the edge of her lips.

“Oh, God, no!” I squawk. “My neighbor’s a high school senior, and he’s super awkward, and I’ve been his best- and only- friend since we were kids. He asked me to come be his wingman so he could impress some girl he’s head over heels for,” I explain.

“Who’s your neighbor?” I smile as the phone gets slid into her back pocket.

“Benji Applebaum.”

“He’s a sweet kid,” the girl nods. “My step-sister Emily has a huge crush on him. He’s the main reason she wanted to throw this party. Wanted a big, bad senior to think the little sophomore was cool,” she laughs.

“Emily Junk?” I ask, canting my head to the side. She nods. “Oh my God, that’s the girl Benji came here to impress!”

“Good. I don’t need Em getting her heart broken,” she grunts. We lapse into silence, smiling at each other and watching the rest of the party. The kids have clearly been burning through their cheap beer based on their sloppy movements and slurred singing along to the music.

“So, um, I’m Chloe,” I offer, realizing I still don’t know her name.

“Beca,” she smirks.

“So,  _ Beca _ , wanna dance with me?” She bites her lower lip. “Come on, what have you got to lose?” She considers for a moment before standing, taking my outstretched hand.

“Nothing. I’ve got absolutely nothing to lose,” Beca grins.

“But  _ everything _ to gain,” I hum. She just laughs as I lead her out to the dance floor.

 

“Oh my  _ God _ !” A voice shouts. But not exactly the one I was expecting. I look up from between Beca’s legs, eyebrow raised.

“ _ Shit _ ,” she mutters, face quickly turning red as she stares at the door. I turn to find a tall, gangly girl with brown hair and brown eyes standing in the doorway, mouth open, tears running down her face. This must be Emily, the step-sister. Who shares the room with Beca that we’re currently naked in (“only until they finish the renovations,” Beca had explained shamefacedly).

“Of  _ course _ ! I throw a party for a guy, and  _ you _ get laid but I can’t even get a guy to  _ kiss _ me!” she wails, slamming the door and running out. I crawl back onto the bed next to Beca.

“I’m a terrible wingman,” I pant. “I totally forgot to help Benji get the girl.” Beca groans.

“I have to go deal with that,” she apologizes.

“We can finish this another time,” I promise, leaning in to kiss her. She balks, standing up to pull on her robe.

“Uh, yeah,” she nods, her face red. 

“Call me. Not ‘call me  _ maybe’ _ . Call me,” I order, grinning as I stand to pull on my clothes. She nods. “Nothing to lose, right?” She nods hurriedly, completely frozen as I pull on my top, kissing her once more.

“Nothing,” she squeaks. “I’ll call you.” I just laugh, watching her scurry out to find her step-sister. Grinning, I write my number on her mirror in lipstick. Pulling out my own phone, I resolve to call Benji and give him a few tips on how to kiss a girl.


End file.
